


Mrs Jones

by felineranger



Series: Fifty Shades [4]
Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: M/M, Multi, fifty shades au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 23:18:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13623573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felineranger/pseuds/felineranger
Summary: Towards the end of her life, Henrietta Jones thinks about her ‘adopted’ family, and her part in it.





	Mrs Jones

**Author's Note:**

> Mrs Jones wanted to tell her side of the story and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Who am I to argue?

Henrietta Jones reached wearily for the lamp by the side of her bed and switched it on. The pain had woken her yet again, the third time this week. The doctor had told her she should consider upping the dose of her painkillers, but she was reluctant to do so just yet. She was afraid if she did, they wouldn’t be as effective when she really started to need them. She took two of the over-the-counter tablets she kept on her nightstand with a sip of water, and settled back against her pillow, waiting for them to kick in.

Her eyes roved over the small pictures framed by her bed. Her wedding day, hand-in-hand with her Reggie on the lawns at the reception. Her son Matthew standing on the steps of the academy in his graduation robes. Jim and Bexley and Viva under the Christmas tree. Arnold and David posing with cheesy grins on a beach, she couldn’t remember where. She looked at their beaming faces and felt a pang that the painkillers couldn’t touch. It was a bittersweet mercy that she would not have to go through this alone. Her husband and her son were not here to watch her suffer; but her adopted family were.

She’d taken the opportunity to break the news on a night when the kids were out and about, and they could speak freely. Sitting opposite them in the kitchen, she had repeated everything the doctors had told her. Arnold’s first instinct – ever the businessman – was to negotiate. Second opinions, third opinions, different doctors, different treatments, drug trials. Dave had just hugged her, and wept. She took all of it in her stride; she had known what their different reactions would be before she spoke a word. She knew her boys. And they _were_ her boys, in every way that mattered.

She let her mind wander back, way back through the years, to the first time she’d met Arnold Rimmer. The ad had been vague, but on the surface it seemed straightforward enough. When the agency made her sign an NDA before the interview she’d started to suspect that there was a little more to it than a simple housekeeping role. When the recruitment officer had escorted her to the Rimmer Building, she’d had her first inkling of why. She wouldn’t have known Arnold Rimmer if he’d passed her in the street, but she knew the name – as did most of the human race. This was a high-profile client. When he’d greeted them as they stepped out of the lift into the penthouse, she’d been shocked at how young he was. She’d been expecting someone more her own age, portly and greying at the temples. The man standing before her could not have been much older than her own Matt had been when he’d passed. He had presence, certainly, and an air of authority; but he wore it like an overcoat. Or perhaps more accurately, like armour.

The agent waited in the opulent sitting room while he gave her a brief tour of the penthouse, to give her an idea of the size of the place, although most of the rooms looked like they were never used. When he’d finally shown her into the playroom, the last stop on the tour, she’d felt him studying her face intently for a reaction. She cast an eye around, trying not to laugh. Well, this certainly made sense of the armour he wore. The boy took himself far too seriously. “May I ask you for your thoughts?” he’d enquired after giving her a moment for it all to sink in. The voice was cool, almost imperious; but she had raised a son and she knew the sound nerves made when masked in bravado. She faced him squarely, letting him see that there was no shock in her face, and no judgement either. “I bet the underside of that bed’s not seen a hoover in many a year,” she remarked knowingly. It only lasted for a moment, but for the first time since she’d entered the apartment, she saw Rimmer smile.

The job was easy enough. Almost _too_ easy for the money, although she supposed that discretion could be expensive in this world. Rimmer had few needs and actually spent very little time at the hub. He was meticulous by nature, even (and perhaps especially) in the playroom, and his infrequent visits did not put much strain on her. She had never been squeamish anyway.

Rimmer was not the most approachable boss she’d ever had, but was never less than courteous, and over time she thought he warmed up little by little as she gained his trust (although he was so distant by nature it was hard to tell; perhaps she'd just become more used to him). She'd looked him up online out of curiosity once, and seen the news story regarding his death. A nasty way to go. It certainly explained the lack of family portraits. When the date rolled around she made no comment, but left a sugarplum cake in a tin on the kitchen counter for him. No point worrying about calories and sugar when you're already dead, after all.

Around eighteen months after she’d started, there was an incident she’d never forget. Rimmer had a new sub at the penthouse for the weekend, and she had prepared a meal for them. They had inevitably moved on to the playroom and she had been in the kitchen, cleaning up the mess from dinner when she heard the sound of a very embarrassed throat being cleared. She had turned to see Rimmer, naked except for a pair of snug boxer shorts, standing behind her. “Mrs Jones,” he said, clearly trying desperately to maintain his façade of cool control, “I realise this is very much outside of your job description, but I think I may need your help.”  
She’d followed him into the playroom and surveyed the scene in bemusement. “How on Titan did the pair of you manage _this_?”   
“It’s a long story. Would you mind terribly…?”  
“Yes, yes, of course. Well, you take that leg and I’ll…That’s right. Now, if you’ll just…”  
“Ouch!”  
“Sorry, dear. Don’t you worry, we’ll have you sorted in a jiffy. We’ll just slide this down a bit…”  
“ _Ouch!_ ”  
“Oh dear. Mr Rimmer, I think some sort of lubricant might be necessary here.”  
“That won’t be a problem.”

They had never spoken of it again, but in her next paycheck she saw that she had been given a _substantial_ raise.

She didn’t pay much attention to the attractive young things that came and went like the phases of the moon. She never saw much of them, and mostly they didn’t seem to last long. The few who did stick around, she never cared much for. They made her uneasy. There had been Lucas, with the six-pack and designer stubble, who looked and smelled like a perfume ad, but had the bearing of a soldier. He did everything but salute when Rimmer tossed orders at him. He’d lasted almost a year. Then of course, there was Norah, and lord knew that had ended badly.

To say that she had disliked her would be unfair. There had been nothing of the girl _to_ dislike. She’d been like an empty shell, it had been impossible to get any glimpse of personality beneath her identity as Rimmer’s sub. She was practically robotic. In the eighteen months she’d been around, Mrs Jones couldn’t remember ever getting more than a one word reply from her; as if even acknowledging the existence of anyone other than Arnold was somehow sacrilegious. She had simply vanished one day, as all the others had done. She had worried about her, that solemn serious girl; not least because the days after she left were the first time she’d ever seen Arnold himself appear unsettled after terminating an arrangement. He hadn’t told her anything, nor would she have expected him to, but she could tell something had happened to shake him. He was bossier than normal; and that was saying something.

She’d forgotten about Norah quickly enough, and so had he. She’d received a phone call from him out of the blue one day, telling her to prep the apartment for a visitor. “Not just a clean,” he’d told her urgently, “I want the works. I want everything that can shine gleaming. I want everything that sparkles glittering. I want flowers in every room. I want champagne in the fridge and the best scotch in the drinks cabinet decanted. I want everything to be perfect.”  
“Very good, Mr Rimmer. Who are we expecting? A new client? One of the magazines?”  
“An engineering student from here on Saturn called David Lister.”  
“For the company?”  
“No. For me.”

She’d been surprised. Normally the arrival of a new sub didn’t require much more than a spring clean and a change of sheets. Rimmer didn’t go out of his way to impress them; the apartment itself – and the fact that he was Arnold Rimmer – were usually enough. Perhaps this David came from an important family; old money maybe, or at least enough new money to make Rimmer less confident than usual in his ability to dazzle. Still, she followed her instructions and got the place looking its fanciest. When she saw Rimmer the next day, he certainly had no complaints. In fact, she didn’t think she’d ever seen him so buoyant. “Did your evening go to plan?” she asked politely.  
“No,” Rimmer shook his head with a strange thoughtful smile, “Not exactly. But it was very, very interesting.”  
“Will he be dining with you tonight?”  
“No, he’s gone back to Saturn.” He seemed to drift off for a moment before snapping back to his normal efficient self. “I’ll need you to stock up the kitchen for next weekend. He’ll be staying over again on Saturday night.”  
“Very good, Mr Rimmer.”

She was intrigued. This was new. Rimmer’s subs did not generally come and go as they pleased. From what she’d been able to tell over the years, this was more or less a full-time job. He expected to be their number one focus and priority at all times, to have them at his beck and call 24/7. He’d mentioned that this David was a student, but she’d never known him to enter into an arrangement with someone who wasn’t willing to give him their full attention, let alone someone living on a different planet. She could only surmise that the lad must be something pretty special.

He wasn’t what she’d expected. From Rimmer’s distinctly unusual behaviour, and perhaps as well because of the name – _David_ – the image she’d had in her mind had been of some sculpted specimen of masculine perfection. Rippling muscles, flowing locks, chiselled features. When Rimmer had shepherded the small figure into the kitchen and introduced him, she had been dumbfounded. _Good grief. He’s just a baby._ Rimmer had told her he was a student, so she’d expected someone young, but this boy looked barely old enough to be out of school. He was petite, only just scraping past Rimmer’s shoulder, and still had that shape particular to young men still fighting their way out of adolescence; boyish softness just beginning to give way to muscle, and a waist so tiny that right now clearly no amount of calories was enough. This little terror would need a lot of feeding. He was a good-looking lad, certainly, but nothing like the other men she’d seen in this apartment over the years. He had a face like an angel, not a god, with cheeks so round and smooth they might have never seen a razor. But what really struck her was his demeanour.

Rimmer always introduced her to his subs, but on the whole they looked right past her. She didn’t really mind; after all they were there for a purpose that had nothing to do with her. Generally they either had a defiant cockiness about them (the ones who were there for the kicks and weren’t shy about it) or subdued and aloof (the ones for whom this was a need, not a game). David didn’t fit either of these categories. He greeted her with a sweet shy smile that made her think of the friends her son had brought home as a boy. They would smile that way as they were introduced, both meek and mischievous, keen to make a good impression but keener still to scamper off and play.

She made him a sandwich while Rimmer took care of some paperwork. As she’d suspected, it barely touched the sides on the way down. She would need to keep the kitchen well-stocked while this one was around. He thanked her sincerely before disappearing to his room. He seemed like such a nice boy. She couldn’t get her head around the idea of him in the playroom, doing the things that Rimmer did in there. It nettled her maternal instincts. After cleaning up, she went to see her boss.

Rimmer was sitting at his desk signing some papers when she knocked. “Mrs Jones,” he greeted her, “Can I help you?”  
She didn’t beat around the bush. “Mr Rimmer, how old is David?” She’d half-expected him to be defensive, offended even. Instead, he smiled.   
“I know what you’re thinking. He’s older than he looks.”  
“Which is how old?”  
“Twenty.”  
“Are you sure about that?” she'd asked dubiously, “He wouldn’t be the first little toerag in the world to lie about his age.”  
“I told you, he’s a student on Saturn. He’d have to be at least eighteen to take the course he’s on, and he’s in his second year. He also took a gap year before starting. It checks out. Besides, I’ve done my own research, I always do. You have my word, he is a consenting adult.”  
“Very well. I’m sorry if I’ve spoken out of turn, but my conscience wouldn’t let me rest if I didn’t make certain.”  
“No,” Rimmer said, with maybe just a touch of unease, “I understand your concern, and I’m glad that you felt able to speak to me. Even I can make mistakes.” He looked out of the window with a faint frown. “And consenting adult or not, this may be a mistake.”   
“Twenty is still very young. Does he really understand what you expect of him?”  
“No. He’s never done anything like this before.”  
“Never?”   
“He is hopelessly inexperienced, in just about every respect. But he’s adamant he wants to give this a shot.”  
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”  
“No. But I’m willing to risk it.”  
“Really? Why?”  
“Because I am a weak man, Mrs Jones, and I want him. He’s too beautiful and too perfect, and I can’t stay away from him.”

She was stunned. Rimmer normally spoke about his subs the way other people talked about furniture. They were belongings, objects. He might admire them, but ultimately they were there to worship him, not the other way around. “We’re going to take it slow,” Rimmer had reassured her. “He’ll only be here at the weekends. I’ll ease him in gently, see how he copes. He’ll have plenty of time to think things over away from here if he needs to.”

She'd decided it was time for her to take a step back. This was a situation she hadn’t seen before, certainly, and it would be a lie to say the conversation hadn’t concerned her a little – for Mr Rimmer’s sake as much as David’s – but all they could do was wait to see how it played out.   
“You do as you see fit, Mr Rimmer. I trust your judgement. But promise me you will take good care of that sweet young man. He’s got a steep learning curve ahead of him.”  
“Mrs Jones,” Rimmer smiled, “Believe me, at this moment in time, David’s happiness and well-being is my highest priority.”

She’d watched things unfold between them with fascination. It didn’t take her long to realise that for Dave, the idea of being Rimmer’s sub was more like a game than a reality. He didn’t give a hoot about the construct of their arrangement, or the BDSM narrative they built their sexual encounters on. He was playing along because it was new and exciting, and because he was clearly enchanted with Rimmer. It was slightly amazing to her that he was sinking himself this deep into a fantasy that he obviously did not take that seriously; but more amazing that Rimmer was allowing it. He was _letting_ Lister treat this as a game.

In all the years she'd worked for Rimmer, she'd never seen him indulge a sub the way he did Dave. Not that he hadn't been generous with the others; they never wanted for anything as far as she could tell. But this was different. The amount of freedom he gave Lister was unprecedented. The fact that Dave was still studying, still working, was shocking enough; but even on the days when he was actually at the hub, their arrangement seemed...half-hearted. Rimmer was maintaining a paper thin veneer of domination, and she knew they were spending a lot of time in the playroom, but it felt like every time she saw them together that their 'arrangement' meant less and less. She'd known Rimmer take subs out to dinner, maybe even to the theatre or symphony, but on picnics? On anything resembling an actual date? Never. More often than not, she fed them while he focused on other matters. Eating together, informally, in the kitchen? Unheard of. All of that on its own would have been unusual, but Dave was _cheeky_ , sometimes outright defiant, and Rimmer didn't seem to mind. He scolded, but very rarely seemed to punish Dave with any real conviction. They _teased_ each other. She'd seen Rimmer treat supermodels like dirt, flog rich and beautiful creatures for daring to speak before spoken to, but this boy - this sunny, sassy little scouser - had him on a string.

She'd watched, waiting for the natural order of things to reassert itself. Rimmer had told her he was going to break the boy in gently, and seemed to have kept to his word, but she didn't imagine this state of affairs would last long. The day they'd been to the zoo had made her re-think. David had chattered excitedly to her as she'd cooked dinner, telling her all about the day they'd had. As the details tumbled out, she'd glanced curiously at Rimmer. Extravagant gestures weren't exactly new for him, but she'd never known him do anything like this. He didn't notice her; he was watching Dave talk, with his chin resting in one hand and an expression of open undisguised affection. When Dave left the room, he diverted his attention to his tablet, which he'd been toying with for a while. "Are you ready for dinner, Mr Rimmer?" she'd enquired.  
"Just a moment. I'm ordering a gift for David."  
"That's nice." She didn't probe further. A gift from Arnold Rimmer could mean anything from diamond-studded jewellery to a diamond-studded butt plug. She didn't need to ask however, as Rimmer turned the tablet around to show her. "Do you think this is too big?" he'd asked seriously. She'd peered warily at the screen. He was buying Dave a huge soft toy panda. At that moment, she'd realised that the natural order had well and truly taken a vacation.

Time had rolled by, and life at Rimmer Central had shown no signs of returning to normal. Instead she found herself flummoxed on an almost daily basis by what she was witnessing. Within weeks, David had taken the job at the hub and more or less moved in. She'd seen them _cuddling_. The first time she heard Rimmer call David 'baby', she had wondered if she'd misheard; when she heard him say 'darling' for the first time, she'd almost dropped the pan she was cleaning. The framework of the arrangement remained; Dave stayed in his own room, the 'yes sir, no sir' game went on, but there was something happening under this roof that she'd never seen before. Something that felt like...happiness.

Then all of a sudden, seemingly out of nowhere, things changed. David was suddenly meeker, more obedient. Rimmer was firmer, more like his old self. In some ways it was almost reassuring. Part of her had been waiting for something like this, for the training to kick in. They both still seemed happy, which was -she supposed- the main thing. Dave seemed as chirpy as ever, if a little more docile than she'd come to expect. It was certainly more familiar territory, but despite the increased strictness there was still an undercurrent of something more. Something gentle and tender. Enough to give her hope that this was not just a blip or a phase, but something that could be built on. To make her hope that there was something _real_ here.

And then one morning she'd arrived to find Rimmer lying alone on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. There was no greeting, no 'good morning', just two words delivered flatly, with no apparent emotion. "Dave's gone."

She'd hesitated, not sure at first if he just meant gone as in 'gone to work', or gone back to his own flat, but it only took her a second to deduce that was not what Rimmer meant. She swallowed hard. She wanted to ask why, ask what had happened. The pair of them had seemed perfectly happy when she'd left yesterday. But she didn't ask; because she thought she could guess what had happened. From Rimmer's reaction - hell, from all of Rimmer's recent behaviour - she thought this must have been David's choice; and there were not many reasons why he would have made it. So she only asked one question.  
"For good?"  
"Yes," Rimmer said. "I think so."  
What else was there to be said? She took her coat off and hung it up. "Would you like some breakfast?"  
"Yes," he said, although he still hadn't moved, "Thank you."  
She went into the kitchen, retrieved some eggs from the refrigerator and began whipping up an omelette, silently wiping tears from her eyes. It was silly, she told herself, to get upset. She'd seen so many others come and go. But David had been different. Whatever hopes or reservations she'd had about how long this might last, for him to just disappear like all the others felt wrong.

She'd watched Rimmer grieve in silence. She was a little surprised herself to realise how fond she had become of him over the years, and how much it hurt to see him suffering, especially knowing how new this kind of pain was for him, but she knew her place. She made tea, made meals she knew he liked, and kept her thoughts to herself. She was less surprised at how much she missed David, whose warm happy nature had made such a difference in this place. She'd been wrong when she'd thought that he'd just disappeared like the others; David was very much still here. He haunted the hub like a ghost, an echo that would not fade away. His laugh could be heard in every silence, his presence felt in every lonely mealtime. She couldn't be certain, but she didn't think Rimmer had set foot in the playroom since the night he'd left. Hard as it was, she told herself this was for the best. She knew the decision to leave couldn't have been easy, and David would not have done it unless he felt he had to. She just hoped that having made his decision, he was happy.

That hope was dashed the moment she'd laid eyes on him. He looked awful. Rimmer was hurting, but he was still trying to make sense of what he'd lost. One look at Dave's face told her that he understood exactly what he'd lost, and the pain was still raw. It was terrible to see the sweet face she associated with so much happiness in such deep distress. She'd held out her arms to him almost on pure instinct, and suspected he'd accepted the hug for the same reason. Did he have anyone else to lean on? Anyone to take care of him? From his drawn face and the no-frills food in his basket, she suspected not. She thought briefly about taking him home with her; a few square meals would do him a world of good. But she had known it was pointless to offer, and probably not appropriate either. He wasn't her son, nor was Arnold, and none of this was really her business. Nevertheless, it had been hard to walk away. He looked so _lost_.

On the night of the press conference, she'd taken the liberty of watching the event on the big screen in the sitting room of the penthouse. Nervous for them both, proud of them both, she'd watched Rimmer and Lister share the stage with mixed emotions. When Rimmer made the announcement about Wildfire, she'd caught her breath, but the shock was not great enough for her to miss David's reaction to the news.

When it was over, she'd turned the TV off and waited for Rimmer to come home. When he arrived, he pulled his tie off and flopped down onto the sofa with a heavy sigh. "Did you see it?" he asked gruffly.  
"Yes," she replied calmly, "I thought you did very well. Both of you."  
"Listen," he rubbed at his face, "I don't want you to worry. Nothing is going to happen for at least a year, probably more. And whatever happens, I will make sure that you're...you know...comfortable. I hope you know that."  
"You think _that's_ what I'm worried about?" she asked him gently. He looked down at his hands. She sighed sadly. "You do what you have to do, Mr Rimmer. But, as you say, whatever happens," she managed a wobbly smile, "I'm very grateful to you for everything. And I'm very proud of what you've achieved." He looked up at her, and she was surprised to see a rare glimpse of unguarded emotion in his face. "Thank you," he said quietly.

She almost didn't dare ask, but couldn't help herself. "Where's Dave?"  
Rimmer's face crumpled again, "He's gone home."  
"With Taylor?"  
"No, but it's ok. That business at least has been put to bed. He's safe."  
"Well, that's a relief. But I couldn't help noticing on the TV that he seemed a little...shaken...by the news."  
"He hates me."  
"I don't think that's true at all."  
"I've made a total mess of things. I don't think he's ever going to speak to me again."  
"He wouldn't be angry if he didn't care. Be patient. He'll calm down."  
"I'm not so sure. He told me to stay away from him. He doesn't want anything to do with me." Rimmer pulled out his phone and toyed with it. "I have to talk to him. If I can just get him to listen to me for one minute...Make him understand."  
"Understand what?"  
Rimmer fidgeted self-consciously with the phone. "That I need him." He hesitated before speaking again. "I love him."

She could still remember the heart-breaking elation she'd felt at hearing him say those words. Joy that he had come far enough to say them, and sorrow that it may have come too late. "Call him."  
"I've tried. He's ignoring me."  
"Maybe he's just asleep. It's been a tough few days. Let him get some rest and try again in the morning."  
"I don't even know what to say to him."  
"Yes. You do."  
"But where do I start? What if..." Rimmer turned his gaze nervously on the view out of the window, "What if he means it? What if he really doesn't want me anymore?"  
"Arnold." She'd never used his first name before, but somehow in this moment it felt right. "When it comes to love, there are never any guarantees. You have to make a leap of faith." She put a hand on his shoulder. "Take a shot at happiness. You've earned it."

It had been a pleasant surprise (but not really a big surprise) when she'd arrived at the penthouse one morning a few days later to find the two of them wrapped in each other's arms on the sofa, giddy as teenagers (although David was only twenty after all). The plastercast on Dave's foot and the wheelchair discarded nearby were more unexpected. But neither of these things matched her surprise when she'd enquired "Goodness, what's all this?", referring to both David's presence and his injury, and Rimmer had scooped him up off the sofa and proclaimed grandly, "A celebration! We're getting married!"

Happy as she was that they were back together, she hadn't been without reservations. They hadn't known each other long, Arnold's relationship history was non-existent, and David was practically still a child (at least in her eyes). However there was no denying that they adored each other, and with the shadow of Wildfire hanging over them she knew it was pointless to fret about what the future held beyond that. She'd watched them say their vows with tears in her eyes, and prayed that the joy she saw in their faces would not be short-lived. She'd wept again as she saw them step out of Wildfire side-by-side (oh, what would she have given to have seen Arnold's face when he realised he had a stowaway). Elation, pride and relief had been tinged with a dark horror as she realised she could have lost them both. When they finally stepped through the doors of the penthouse lift, many many hours later, she'd hugged them tightly, and scolded David for doing something so dangerous, and known that she loved them.

With their big adventure over, she'd worried what would happen next. Their relationship had survived a lot already, but could it survive normality? Could it survive boredom? But again they had surprised her, settling into marriage and then parenthood with equal devotion. She'd watched them navigate the ups and downs of married life, survive the night-feeds and tantrums and teenage dramas of raising children, and everything else that the universe could throw at them, and her love and pride had only grown stronger with each passing year.

Her eyes becoming heavier now, the pain easing off, she turned off the light and rolled away from the photographs feeling lighter in heart. They were strong, her boys. Two of the bravest souls in the universe. As hard as the months ahead were going to be, she knew they would get through it, and the years beyond too. And sad as she was to leave them, and the children, she did not fear for what their future held. Not one bit. They would manage without her.

Her boys were indestructible. It was just a damn shame she wasn't.


End file.
